


Making Sense of It All

by TeamGwenee



Series: Up North [2]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Angst and Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Modern AU, NOT for Sansa fans, minor jon/ygritte, workplace bullying
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-20
Updated: 2019-12-20
Packaged: 2021-02-26 17:01:13
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 10,517
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21871759
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TeamGwenee/pseuds/TeamGwenee
Summary: Brienne and Jaime have been an item for nearly a year, but both Brienne and Sansa are struggling to understand the state of affairs.
Relationships: Jaime Lannister/Brienne of Tarth, One-sided Jaime Lannister/Sansa Stark, Past Tormund Giantsbane/Brienne of Tarth
Series: Up North [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1575907
Comments: 14
Kudos: 97





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Sequel to 'Let Battle Commence'. Re-uploaded to make some minor changes. Please review.

The front parlour; or living room as it was known by its 21st century occupants, was one of the few rooms untouched by the chaos that had erupted in Winterfell Cottage. The storage rooms were in the process of being cleared out, scrubbed and refurbished. The hallways were hazardous, filled with ladders and boxes teetering upon each other, with the three youngest Starks constantly careening through at a perilous pace.

Brienne swore as she lurched forward from the top of her ladder, capturing an open bucket of yellow paint before a sprinting Rickon sent it crashing to ground, but not before splattering the dour faced Jon in sunny yellow.

Arya, who had been streaking after Rickon skidded to a halt and burst into shrieks of laughter as she caught sight of Jon.

“Blonde suits you Jon!” she jeered. “You look very pretty. You should make it permanent for the wedding!”

Jon growled playfully as he lunged towards her, hands grasping at air as Arya went sprinting off down the corridor.

“Watch it!” Brienne called, swaying dangerously from the top of the ladder, laughing despite herself.

It was good to see the Starks in high spirits. Ever since Ned’s death, laughter had been fleeting. Cat’s notion of renting the spare rooms for students had not only been a sensible economic measure, for losing Ned’s wage had meant cutbacks for all, but the task of refurbishing the dusty old rooms had brought noise and thunder into the house once more.

Brienne felt the ladder beneath her tremble once more as the front door was slammed shut, and a thunderous Sansa stormed past, heels rattling against the marble floor and red face clashing hideously with red hair.

“Catelyn!” Sansa yelled. “Catelyn!”

Cat came jogging down the staircase, rolled up jeans stained with plaster dust and the arms of Ned’s old white shirt bunched up at the elbows.

“My whole name?” she asked with a wry grin. “Am I in trouble?”

Cat’s amusement of Sansa’s attempts of being more mature had never faded. Try all she might, Cat had been the one to help change Sansa’s sheets when the squeaking and screeching of the ancient plumbing at Riverrun had made Sansa think a witch lived in her grandfather’s house after Robb had flushed their shared toilet.

Sansa raised an accusatory finger, her entire being trembling with righteous indignation.

“When you told me that you had gotten me another interview at Manderly Fashion House, you didn’t mention _once_ that I would be working under… working under _her!”_ Sansa declared.

“Who’s her?” Cat asked, eyebrow raised. “The cat’s mother?”

“Daenerys Targaryen,” Sansa spat.

“I told you the position was open because Daenerys had been given a promotion,” Catelyn said coolly.

“I thought you meant I would be filling her old position,” Sansa wailed. “Not that I would be her personal assistant!”

“Please tell me you did not throw the interview?” Catelyn asked, her eyes hardening into chips of ice.

“No,” Sansa admitted. “I didn’t know I would be _her_ assistant until the interview had ended. I had made a good impression so far and I didn’t want to appear ungracious.”

“Good,” Catelyn said, nostrils flaring. “And should they call with an offer, you shall be gracious when you accept.”

“Accept?” Sansa repeated. _“Mum?”_

“Sansa, it has been two years since you left school and you still haven’t found anything, let alone something in a field you’re interested in. You don’t think you will like your boss? Join the club. We need the money. We’ve had to take Rickon off the football team, cancel Arya’s fencing lessons and call off Bran’s climbing party. We are taking strangers into our home—”

“It didn’t bother you when Brienne moved in,” Sansa grumbled.

Sansa knew the minute she said those words it was a bad idea. Brienne froze at the top of the ladder, waiting for Cat to respond.

“Brienne is one of the family,” Cat said firmly. “Or as good as.”

“She certainly fits in like one,” Sansa sniffed, thinking of her boisterous brothers and wretched little sister.

Cat turned to Brienne, smiling.

“Brienne dear, if you want to head upstairs and wash up, Robb and I are more than happy to finish up here. I can see you’re nearly done. Didn’t you say Jaime was coming this evening?”

It had taken a while for Catelyn to deem Jaime good enough for Brienne. The handsome Lannister had entered into Brienne’s life during the middle of Jon’s Great Daenerys Heartbreak, and Cat wasn’t ready to deal with another tragic romance, especially for someone as sensitive as Brienne. But Cat had watched the pair, and every time Jaime saw Brienne enter a room a smile grew on his face. It was strange to see that look on the acidic tongued Jaime Lannister’s face after seeing it so many a time on her dear, sombre Ned’s lips, and the ache it caused in her heart was no small thing. But Cat would never deprive anyone the chance to be looked at the way Jaime looked at Brienne. The way Ned looked at Cat in the photos.

Brienne nodded, clambering down. “Seven,” Brienne said, wiping her paint stained hands on a rag.

“What is Jaime coming over for?” Sansa asked, her throat dry and tongue heavy.

“He said we’re celebrating,” Brienne said, smiling at her feet. “First six months at Mormont Stables.”

Sansa blinked. A six-month job anniversary?

Inside Sansa’s stomach, a green eyed, yellow tongue beast lifted its head, hissing and curling and twisting and spitting. Such a small, pointless excuse for a celebration, and yet Jaime Lannister grasped at it. Clutching at any chance to celebrate his beloved. And Brienne said it so casually, barely showing any appreciation for her divinity of a boyfriend. It didn’t make sense.

The word ‘anniversary’ painted water colours of candlelit dinners in Redwyne’s private dining room, dining on the daintiest Qartheen cuisine. A walk through the frosted park, huddling together for warmth.

“Did I hear Jaime was coming?” Arya asked, skidding into the hall. Unlike Sansa, Arya never hid her pleasure at having a chance to see Jaime.

Cat had come to approve of Brienne’s relationship with Jaime, but Arya’s relationship with Lannister was something she was unlikely to ever except. Jaime’s little brother Tyrion was a renowned criminal lawyer in King’s Landing. One of the most sought after in the South. He dealt with some of the most sordid, disgusting cases in the country, and looked the dregs of man in the eye on a regular basis. He could always be counted on to pass a good story to Jaime.

Needless to say, Cat did not appreciate Jaime passing these stories onto her thirteen-year-old.

Brienne jumped into the shower, scrubbing the paint and sweat off, and she was still red and flushed from the heat when Jaime came knocking. Sansa watched from the parlour as Brienne came down the stairs to join Jaime and Arya in the hallway.

“Not putting on any makeup?” Sansa asked casually, cornering Brienne on the staircase.

“I don’t want to keep Jaime waiting,” Brienne explained, as though wearing makeup was a regular thing for her.

“I’m sure he won’t made,” Sansa insisted. “I can keep him entertained. He will appreciate the effort, trust me.”

“Wench!” Jaime called. “Are you ready?”

Brienne nodded politely at Sansa, ducking around her as she pulled on a worn, scuffed up winter coat, the tips of her butchered hair still damp from the shower.

But to see Jaime Lannister’s face it nearly appeared as though it was of no matter to him, for within seconds of seeing her, his fingers were tangled in her damp locks and her fresh scrubbed face was pressed against his own.

#

Fish and chips on the bay at sundown, pressed up against Jaime to fight the bracing wind, would always be Brienne’s date of choice. She did not begrudge joining Jaime in the terrifyingly posh institutions he had never been able to wean himself off from since leaving the South, those dates added variety and the food tended to be incredible. But to sit listening to the sea, hot vinegary chips clutched in cold, stiff fingers, to have Jaime take her frozen hands in his own and blow and rub to keep them warm, it made her heart smile.

“I love how you always order a large portion of chips,” Jaime said, smiling fondly as Brienne tried to blink strands of yellow hair out of her eyes. “The amount of times I have gone on dates where the lovely lady ordered a side salad and then tried to steal _my_ chips, and this was always those fancy places where the portions are already piss-takingly small. Why not just order their own chips?”

“It doesn’t count if the food comes from another person’s plate,” Brienne said knowledgably. “No calories that way.”

“I see.” Jaime nodded. “Like when you have an exam coming up and making a colour coded revision time-table and opening your books to the right page _totally_ counts as revising.”

“Exactly,” Brienne said. “As for chips, I’ve just finished mine so I’m afraid you’re out of luck.”

Brienne lunged forward for Jaime’s near empty bag of chips, fingers clutching at air as Jaime wrenched it from her reach. She tumbled forward off the stone wall, Jaime grabbing at her only to plummet down with her.

They toppled into the sand, Brienne’s head cushioned by Jaime’s arms and Jaime’s head cushioned somewhere very pleasant indeed.

Jaime took the moment to appreciate the sight of Brienne pinned underneath him, hair flayed out beneath her in the cold sand. Her white skin was flushed pink, frostbitten cheeks stretching out as she laughed. In her eyes Jaime could see the black night sky and his own face reflected back at him, his smile and the stars captured in sapphires. She was laughing still. When they first met, it had seemed to Jaime that she never laughed and smiled only against her will. Now she was often with a smile on her lips, and more often than not it was Jaime who put it there.

“What are you thinking about?” Brienne asked.

“Just thinking about how boring you were when we first met,” Jaime told her. “I suppose we have me to thank for getting you a sense of humour.”

He grunted as Brienne pushed his bulk off her.

“Your knee was in my gut,” Brienne scolded him, her eyes dancing.

Jaime brushed the stray strands of sandy hair from Brienne’s eyes. “You’ll have to tidy yourself up before we get you home, or else Catelyn Stark will never be convinced I haven’t ravished you thoroughly.”

He meant it as a joke, but the smile on Brienne’s face grew stiff and forced. “Does it bother you,” she asked softly, “That we haven’t done _it_ yet?”

Jaime froze. Brienne waited for him to answer in silence with only the mist from their breath between them. Jaime dug for the right words, well aware of the suspense he was keeping Brienne yet unwilling to speak in haste and say the wrong thing.

“No,” he said honestly. “It doesn’t bother me. I want to do it, definitely. But there’s too much good stuff for us not being ready yet to bother me.”

“ _Me_ not being ready yet, you mean,” Brienne said, an edge to her voice that Jaime had learned to be on alert for.

He kissed her nose.

“I love you,” he told her simply. “You’re brilliant, and incredible and the time we have spent together has been the best in my life.”

“It’s been nearly a _year_ , Jaime,” Brienne pointed out. “Are you seriously telling me that you wouldn’t have expected things to have moved forward by now? When we first kissed, did you expect to find yourself eleven months later, still kissing and nothing more?”

“I honestly didn’t expect you to put up with me for a whole year,” Jaime said lightly. “I’m astonished you’ve stuck this long, instead of calling it a day and packing it in.”

“It’s you who should have packed it in by now,” Brienne insisted. “Gone off and found someone better. Someone who makes sense standing next to you, someone who isn’t broken down with baggage and who isn’t fucked up in the head.”

Brienne wasn’t a virgin.

There had been a guy, technically a boyfriend, her only boyfriend, back in University. His name was Tormund Giantsbane. From the moment he had laid eyes on Brienne in the gym he had been besotted. He was rough, and crude, with a tangled red beard as coarse as a scrubbing brush. The sight of Brienne in lycra, heaving weights above her head, figuratively had him drawling and quite literally had him licking his lips.

Brienne was categorically ‘not interested’, but her handful of friendly acquaintances had made an immediate leap from Tormund showing an interest to buying her a ‘Popping the V-card’ cake. Brienne had managed to hold out and onto her pride for a while, even going so far as to switch gyms and alter her timetable to avoid him. But by twenty-one her virginity was becoming something of an albatross around her neck, and she had to face that she had limited choices. That; and the fact that her ‘friends’ had been going on about what a good thing Tormund would be for her and had started demanding to know when she would put the poor man out of his misery. It seemed pre-determined that Brienne would give in eventually.

And there was a sense of _rightness_ to it. People would see them on the street and think ‘yeah, that figures’. Tormund was a big, rough man, a man’s man. And Brienne was his big, hardy woman. She was no fainting flower. She wouldn’t mind it if he left his damp towels on the wet floor or get red bristles all over the sink. It wouldn’t bother her if he snogged her without warning, clumps of lettuce clinging between his teeth and yesterday’s beer on his breath. Brienne wouldn’t complain when he spanked her in public, and when he would give her groans and grunts and pants where she might have preferred sighs and whispers.

And in turn, her loved her body. Adored it. _Salivated_ over it. Which was more than Brienne could expect of any other man. Even she knew it was ludicrous for her to reject Tormund in order to hold out for something better.

She had finally called it quits when she found herself with Tormund’s hand on her hip, the man speaking with pride of how he had ‘worn her down’. How she had ‘put up a fight’ but he ‘broke her down in the end.’ She listened with one ear as Tormund described how he managed to claim her, trying to remember if at any point somebody had asked her if this was something she wanted. Trying to remember at what point she stopped asking herself the same question.

Ridding herself of Tormund was a burden from Brienne’s shoulders, but she still carried the weight of another link of shame forged around her neck. She was used to looking at her body, to other people looking at her body, to _men_ looking, and thinking it ugly.

But now there was something dirty about it as well.

“Brienne,” Jaime said seriously. “Being with you has made me happier than I have ever thought possible. This is _literally_ the happiest I have been in my entire life.”

Doubt still lingered in Brienne’s eyes, but she smiled and nodded. She was still teaching herself to accept compliments and kind words. It was an uphill battle, she was still thinking of Jaime as loving her ‘despite of’ rather than ‘because of’, but she was getting closer.

Jaime rolled off Brienne and lay beside her in the cold, hard sand. His left arm, still tucked beneath Brienne’s shoulders, stretched out and began running his fingers through her tangled, windswept hair.

“There is one step I was hoping we could take,” Jaime said softly.

“Oh?” Brienne asked, rolling her head over to face him. “What step?”

Jaime tucked a lock behind Brienne’s ear. “What with the Starks needing the spare rooms, I was wondering if it might be the time for you to move in?”

Brienne blinked. “What? Like, as in live together, in the s _ame_ flat _?”_

“I have a guest room,” Jaime quickly assured her. “Until you’re ready to go further. And even after, if you just need your own space. But yeah.” Jaime dipped his head forward, pressing forehead against her own, his breath misting up the air between them. “You and me, together, in the same flat. I want to make a home with you.”

“Even if we don’t…” Brienne said hesitantly.

“Even then.” Jaime reached over and stroked Brienne’s cheek. “I just want to have you around Brienne, that’s all I want.”

Brienne smiled tentatively. “Well,” she said, “I think we can make that happen.”


	2. Chapter 2

~Two Weeks Later~

It didn’t matter how painful it got every time Sansa was forced to watch Brienne and Jaime Lannister’s displays of romantic adoration, Sansa always welcomed news of Jaime Lannister joining the Starks for dinner.

This particular night, Sansa had spent the day at work preparing by jotting down witty observations to make ‘off the cuff’, and mentally photoshopping herself into different outfits within her wardrobe. She tried to convince Catelyn to hold the dinner in the Dining Room, but Cat had scoffed at the idea. The Dining Room was used only for special occasions. For a small family dinner with Jaime and Ygritte, the kitchen below stairs would do perfectly well.

Sansa straightened her hair so that it flowed in a fiery waterfall across her shoulders, painted herself an alluring smoky eye and donned a girlish yet sophisticated dress of dark teal. She was charming and eloquent and insightful, but the only ones who laughed were Jon and Ygritte and they had indulged in a little ‘pre-evening dessert’ before heading over and they were laughing at _everything_.

Suffice to say, dinner was not going as Sansa had planned. But then, it seemed as though nothing went as planned these days.

There were certain things Sansa had expected of her life by the time she was twenty-three. The right career, the right man. A glamorous, exciting job and a glamorous exciting boyfriend, these were not unreasonable expectations. Sansa had always been a pretty girl, and she was a pretty girl who had grown into a beautiful woman. She was a good student, hard-working and competitive. Everyone, literally everyone, had said that there were grand things in store for her, whether out of admiration or jealousy. It was just a fact.

Then that future which had seemed so golden began to take longer and longer to materialise. And there was the constant mantra of ‘you’re young, give it time, there’s no hurry’, but how could Sansa believe that when she knew that time was so very fleeting? When her own father who should have had so much ahead of him never lived long enough to get to see Sansa in her glamorous job, bringing prestige to the Stark name. Never got to walk her down the aisle.

Sansa knew the clock was ticking.

What was particularly galling was that everything that Sansa had been owed was right before her, yet it had all been given to _other_ people.

Daenerys fucking Targaryen had the job. Daenerys got the office. The glass walls, the plaque with her name, the shut door. Sansa got a desk. Daenerys got the business lunches and meet and greets and galas with magazines and artists and models. Sansa got the coffee.

And Brienne; Brienne Tarth of a _ll people,_ got the man.

Or at least, seemed to have the man. Had the man _for now._ Brienne Tarth and Jaime Lannister were such an incongruous, mismatched pair, Sansa could never see them lasting for long. Sansa had read about Jaime’s torrid love affair with Pop-star Cersei Baratheon, everyone had, and it made sense to Sansa that after devoting five years of his life to the infamous beauty, Jaime would cleave to someone like Brienne. Brienne was his detox, his palette cleanser. No one could expect Jaime’s inexplicable attachment to last, least of all Brienne.

And yet…

Jaime reached out and took Brienne’s hand, raising a significant eyebrow. Brienne gave him a small, nervous smile and nodded.

“Jaime and I have an announcement to make,” Brienne addressed the table. “He and I, we’re… we’re moving in together.”

Arya, Bran and Rickon all let out wails of dismay which acted as a perfect cover for Sansa’s own stifled moan.

“How long has this been in the works?” Cat asked, torn between happiness for Brienne and a re-occurrence of the empty nest syndrome that had occurred when Robb moved in with Theon, and Jon went to live in a house share with Ygritte and her Wildling friends.

“We agreed a couple of weeks ago,” Jaime said. “I have a spare room at my place going empty, and Brienne’s going to move in.”

“What? Different rooms?” Sansa asked abruptly, ignoring Arya’s swift kick to her shin.

“That’s right,” Brienne said tightly, before being drawn into a conversation with Rickon about how she was going to decorate her new room.

 _‘Separate_ rooms?’ Sansa thought. ‘Nearly a year together and still sleeping in different beds.’ It struck Sansa as very odd. She couldn’t imagine Jaime being alright with that, unless it was at his behest. Sansa could understand _that._ If Jaime wanted a detox from Cersei Baratheon and her myriad of affairs, a pure, chaste relationship with Brienne was just the ticket.

There was definitely something more going on between the two, of that Sansa was certain. Things just weren’t adding up. Last night, when Brienne returned from her date, she barely spoke about Jaime, just said that he was ‘fine’, and the date was ‘nice’.

Back in her teens, Sansa was obsessed with pop sensation, Loras Tyrell, along with a third of the female population of Westeros. Sansa was part of a fandom utterly devoted to proving that Loras was in love with his band mate, Aurane Waters. Every single member of the over a million strong fandom was convinced that _Lorane_ was canon. Then news leaked that Loras was in a relationship with Renly Baratheon and the fandom went into a collective detective mode.

Renly’s older brother was a politician, well known for his off-colour comments about the LGBTQ community. It was a PR move, publicity. Loras was being blackmailed. The dates about their supposed trip to Lys were inconsistent. Aurane looked at his shoes during an interview when Loras asked about Renly. Loras and Aurane both wore grey at the Sept Gala, but Renly had worn black. Small pieces of evidence began to fit a jigsaw together to create a picture. And when the picture was complete, it could only reveal one thing.

Sansa rather felt like she was back in her fandom days, the need to unravel the truth behind Jaime and Brienne’s happy couple charade rising within her.

She looked at Brienne, who was nodding seriously as Rickon earnestly lectured her on the virtues of bunk beds.

“You can get one with a slide!” Rickon informed her. “And you can get one with a tent on the top bunk and curtains down the side. You can get an army tent or a spaceship, or a pink castle tent if you like. Because you’re a girl.”

“Thank you Rickon,” Brienne said kindly. “I will take that into consideration.”

Jaime was watching Brienne. The smile on his lips was fond but not what Sansa would consider to be passionate. Brienne said their date last night was a trip to the _chippy,_ as though that even counted as a date!

No, there was definitely something fishy going on, and Sansa was determined to prove it. And soon.

After all, the clock was ticking.

#

“Honour’s back leg is worrying me again,” Brienne called to Podrick as he trotted the pretty grey mare past.

“See,” Brienne said. “She’s favouring it. Take her back to the stables and call the vet to give her a one over.”

“Taking Honour out of training again Tarth?” Ronnet Connington asked, sidling up to Brienne with a sneer on his face. “You know we’re meant to be using her for the new Arthur Dayne movie.”  
“She’s been fussing over her back leg,” Brienne said blankly, keeping her stare dead ahead. “I don’t want to risk it.”

“Well she doesn’t look lame to _me_ ,” Connington declared, raising his voice enough to be heard by all the hands and grooms scurrying past. Mark Mullenore and Owen Inchfield looked up from their bags of feed and nodded in agreement.

“And I intend to keep it that way,” Brienne said in a cool voice. Ron was no vet and he had no right to be questioning her judgement in such a way, but any push back on her part would reflect badly on her.

Brienne adored her job. Training horses for movie sets had been her dream for as long as she could remember. Apart from Ron and his cronies, and Randyll Tarly; whose lip seemed to curl each time he looked at her, the people at Mormont Stables were good folk and the horses she worked with were incredible, intelligent creatures. But there were days where the prospect of facing Ronnet Connington made getting out of bed such a struggle.

There had been the odd comment in particular, she had tried to flag up with her boss. But Randyll Tarly took the view that if you are a woman working with men, you should either get a thick skin or bail. He didn’t coddle his male staff, and he didn’t believe in giving women special treatment because they were too sensitive to handle workplace banter.

“You cosset the horses too much,” Ron insisted. “They’re not pets and they’re not those glue factory rejects you’re used to working with. They are working animals, and that nag is worth twenty thousand dragons alone, so she better be earning her keep.”  
“All the more reason not to take any risks with her health,” Brienne replied. “Unless you want to explain to Maege Mormont why her twenty thousand dragon mare is unable to work?”

Ron knew this was playing field he had no chance of scoring on and switched tactics.

“Are you seeing ‘The Boyfriend’ tonight?” he asked.

Brienne gritted her teeth. “No,” she said brusquely, hearing the doubt in Ron’s voice.

“Oh, why not?” Ronnet demanded.

“He’s busy,” was all Brienne would say.

“With what?”

“I wasn’t aware it was any of your business,” Brienne snapped.

Ron raised his hands in surrender. “Nothing, I just figured if you had a boyfriend, then surely you would want to talk about him. Mullenore, Inchfield! Wasn’t I just saying the other day how much we want to hear more about the boyfriend?”

“He was,” Mark confirmed. “Just saying that if he exists, surely we would see more of him.”

Brienne fought down her flush and swallowed down her desire to demand what they meant by ‘if’. She may very well have failed had Tarly not entered the courtyard, and Brienne knew any signs of ‘aggressiveness’ from her end would not be well received.

“I need to see where Pod is with the vet,” she said in a stiff, strangled voice, striding off across the courtyard in long strides that were not long enough to get her away before she could hear Inchfield say “I’ve ridden fiercer beasts than that, but you would have to pay me double my going rate to get me to give it a go on a mare like her.”  
“Ah, but the brutish ones are always the most giving once you’ve broken them in right enough,” Ron countered. “The ugly ones are the most grateful. And I will bet you anything you could do anything to Brienne the ‘Brute’ and she’ll bloody thank you for it.”  
‘Ignore,’ Brienne told herself, _‘Ignore’._

In her earlier days, Brienne would have reported such comments to Tarly. But he was quick to inform her that this was just how men talked to each other, and if she wanted to work alongside them, she had best get used to it.

#

“I know how Yara Greyjoy works,” Daenerys Targaryen told Sansa confidently. “She would have made up her mind within the first five seconds after we asked her to do the shoot. If it was ‘no’ she would have said ‘no’. This stringing along business is just a mind game, the way she drags out the best deal for herself. She won’t confirm anything until the last minute. We just need to keep pushing.”

‘ _I_ just need to keep pushing, you mean,’ Sansa wanted to say as Daenerys fluttered away from Sansa’s desk.

It was Sansa who stuck leaving voice mails and emails and text messages every hour, pleading and begging for a confirmation from the world-famous photographer. It was Sansa organising complimentary cigars and bottles of champagne to be couriered over. It was Daenerys collecting models and spending money and getting praise and generally acting far too confident for someone who didn’t even have a photographer secured.

When Sansa had pictured herself working for Manderly Fashion House, she imagined runways and private jets and champagne at galas. She imagined her name being in all the best magazines and on the tongue of all the best people. Not sitting in an office waiting by the phone, with breaks only to run messages and fetch coffee.

Everyone ignored her. The people who mattered just walked right past her unless they needed a favour. The people at Sansa’s pay grade had invited her to their after works drinks and tried to bring her into the mix, but to accept would have been a degradation. To admit she was one of them and this was her job, not just a stepping-stone. This job and these people, they were just an interim until Sansa was given her rightful due.

Sansa had not said as much to them in so many words, but the message had been conveyed. Invites to drinks had been replaced with pointed glares over tea mug and hushed giggles over phone screens that lead Sansa to fear she had been made into a meme into the office’s group chat.

Sansa’s home phone buzzed. It was Brienne messaging her.

**_Are you still heading home early to_ **

**_help Cat with Seating Charts?_ **

_Yeah, Cat is worried about where_

_to put all of Ygritte’s Wildling friends._

_I need to make sure none of_

_them are near me when I am eating._

**_I think they’re alright. Friendly. Certainly_ **

**_better than this guy I used to date. He was just_ **

**_vulgar, and got ginger hair everywhere._ **

**_Ygritte’s folks are fun._ **

****

Sansa raised an eyebrow

_In what way vulgar?_

**_Just really crude, always talking about sex_ **

**_and groping me in public._ **

****

_Petty much normal guy stuff then._

**_Really?_ **

****

_That’s how men act when they are attracted_

_to a woman._

Well, for Sansa it was usually a bit more subtle and courteous than what Brienne was likely to receive, but the intent was there.

****

**_Anyway, Jaime is giving me a lift home. If you can_ **

**_get here in time he could give you a lift too._ **

****

Sansa felt her heart stop with a thud beneath her genuine _arianne_ blouse. A ride home with Jaime? It would mean having to go to the stables, which was even worse than catching the bus (ugh, public transport. If only her mum would do the decent thing and buy her a car). But if it meant riding with Jaime?

Sansa checked her teeth for lipstick and texted Brienne back.

_I’ll be on my way._


	3. Chapter 3

Sansa waited by the gate, keeping an eye out for Jaime. Her motivation no less to snatch a few minutes alone with Jaime as it was to avoid getting horse shit on her pumps. Brienne was still fussing over the nasty beasts, covered in horsehair and sweat.

A squeal of wheels against tarmac and the rumbling of an engine sent Sansa’s heart spiralling up into her throat. Jaime had clearly changed out of his uniform before heading over from the horse shelter. He wore an old shirt and snugly fitted jeans, his hair damp from the shower. Sansa looked forward to Jon and Ygritte’s wedding, when she would get a chance to see him in a tuxedo.

“Hello Sansa,” he said with a nod, causing Sansa’s stomach to twirl and thighs to clench at hearing the sound of her name from Jaime Lannister’s delectable lips.

“Jaime,” Sansa said in an airy voice. She lightly placed her white, elegant hand on the gate, resting it in Jaime’s eyeline in a graceful, fluid movement.

“Is Brienne going to be long, do you think?” Jaime asked.

Sansa inclined her head towards the stables, a stray lock of flaming hair floating down her cheek. “Not long, I think. She’s just finishing up with a friend.”

The ‘friend’, a ginger man of middling looks, was leaning forward, grinning toothily as Brienne stared steadfastly ahead, not looking him in the eye even as he bobbed around in front of her. The man seemed anxious to gain her attention, but on seeing Sansa with Jaime, Brienne strode away with barely a word of parting.

Jaime pulled a slight frown of confusion at Brienne’s abrupt pasture.

“Who was that?” Jaime asked after pulling Brienne into an (excessively long) ‘hello kiss’.

“No one,” Brienne said quickly. Really rather quickly. “No one important at least. Let’s not talk about him.”

From behind Jaime and Brienne’s back, Sansa raised a dubious eyebrow. Brienne was almost jumpy; for her at least, and clearly quite anxious to change the subject for whatever reason and keep Jaime from lingering on the matter of the red haired ‘friend’.

Sansa stepped forward and planted herself by the passenger seat door in what was not quite enough of a dart to be considered purposefully fast, but fast enough that she found herself sat by Jaime and sparing the poor man the scent of his sweaty, horsey girlfriend.

She tried to check her eyes for mascara goop in the mirror, but Jaime quickly adjusted, placing an awkwardly bent Brienne front and centre. Sansa winced in empathy at the sight of Brienne’s long legs tucked up uncomfortably, and stretched out her own in a long, luxurious movement.

“So what were you guys chatting about?” Sansa asked casually.

Brienne shook her head. “Just, he was giving me a bit of grief, the usual stuff.”

“What usual stuff?” Jaime asked, his grip tightening on the stirring wheel. He was tense, Sansa could see the muscles bulging under his tight t-shirt.

“Nothing,” Brienne tried to deflect, before she pursed her lips into a thin line, spitting out the words in a jumbled rush, “I would like to know what he; a man, has to tell me about being a ‘proper’ woman?”

Sansa caught sight of Brienne’s butchered hair and dirty nails and declined to comment.

Jaime tried to gently push the matter, but Brienne remained tight-lipped and Jaime courteously changed the subject, even as Brienne’s outburst lingered thick in the air like the smell of dirt and straw.

Brienne talked some fine words, but it was evident to Sansa that whatever the ginger who had been trying to so hard for Brienne to notice him had said had cut her deep. His words mattered more to Brienne than Brienne was willing to admit, willing to admit in front of Jaime.

Jaime looked so concerned. Sansa could see the lines in his forehead as she studied his handsome profile.

“Brienne?” he said gently, placing a hand on his knee. “Do you want to talk-”

“I just want to forget this day ever happened,” Brienne snapped, brushing his hand off her brusquely.

Hurt flickered in Jaime’s eyes, and Sansa could not help but feel a stirring of anger in her belly.

#

“Sansa, you need to be glued to your desk today!” Dany said briskly. “Yara Greyjoy said her assistant will be skyping today with her answer. Whatever you need, whatever you want, coffee, lunch, a glass of vintage from the Tyrell cellar, a home cinema system, a string courted to entertain you as you wait, ask and you will receive. Just _do not_ leave your desk until we have Yara Greyjoy’s confirmation.”

Daenerys, usually so composed and glamorous, flurried around the office like a feather in a hurricane, sorting out the final designs. Everything had to be finalised by tomorrow’s Heads of Department meeting; the clothes the models, the studio. And the photographer.

Daenerys has insisted from the start this was how Yara Greyjoy worked, and that she had not yet received an outright refusal was a sign Yara intended to agree. The famed renegade photographer was known for her power games, but with only a few hours left to receive confirmation, Dany could not help her growing state of agitation.

It was make or break time.

She had given her word that she could get Yara Greyjoy, she had built the entire shoot around Yara and had already spent so much money. Dany’s entire future was at stake, and everything depended upon Yara Greyjoy giving her confirmation.

And on Sansa being present to receive it.

And if that call didn’t come through, if all of Dany’s boasts and promises came to nothing, then Dany’s career would crumble into ashes.

Daenerys had overplayed her hand, had made too much of herself. She shouted when she should have whispered, took up space when she should have made room, asked when she should have demurred. All the time, pushing herself forward, pushing for more.

But on that day, it was Sansa; the sweet, silent assistant, who held all the cards.

That evening was Jon and Ygritte’s engagement party. A large gathering for friends and extended family. The Starks had already held a small, intimate gathering and Jon had assured Sansa that if she needed to give it a miss or arrive late, he and Ygritte would completely understand.

Jaime was going to be there.

As requested, Sansa waited diligently by her desk, leaving only for the shortest toilet breaks with her desk guarded over by a colleague.

Dany had looked so grateful on her way out to sort out a shipping crisis that would keep her out of the office for the best part of the evening, touched to see Sansa so firmly in her corner.

“Star,” Dany had said. “You absolute star! I will pay you back for this, Manderly will truly take notice of you once I’ve put a word in.”

Because Daenerys clearly had that power.

Sansa waited an hour until after Daenerys had left, looked at the black computer screen which had not been turned on since yesterday, gathered her things and left.

#

“Jaime! What are you doing here?”

Despite the absolute shite day she had had so far, the sight of Jaime, golden skinned and sweaty haired, couldn’t help but bring a smile to her face.

“I remembered you had the afternoon off, so I made Edd switch shifts with me.” He reached out and stroked a slick strand of hair from her face. “What do you say we head back to mine for a quick shower, and then I treat you to lunch?”

Brienne’s stomach roared, and after a morning being on the receiving end of Ron’s jibes and jeers, she needed some TLC. She nodded with a smile, the rings under her eyes betraying just how done in the morning had left her. Jaime placed a protective hand on her shoulder, gently steering her towards his car. During the drive he chatted inanely about a mass beheading case that Tyrion was working on. He didn’t expect Brienne to listen, and Brienne knew he wasn’t asking her to. He was giving her a breather before addressing what he truly wanted to talk over her with. Safe in Jaime’s car, growing further and further from the stables, Brienne did not find herself dreading the conversation she knew awaited her. Now that Jaime knew there was a problem, the weight of keeping it from him was lifted and Brienne looked forward to letting it all out.

Jaime drew up outside his apartment and looked at Brienne expectantly, sensing that she was ready to talk.

“Could you tell me more about what was going on at work the other day?” Jaime asked gently.

Brienne breathed in, nodded, and let it spill. The constant harassment from Ron. Having to wake up every day prepared to defend the simplest choice. Having to listen to scorn be poured over the relationship in her life that mattered the most to her. Knowing that she could never let show just how tired she was, how angry it made her that Ron would never get her due.

By the end, she was crying, Jaime rubbing firm circles into her back.

“Have you flagged this up with your boss?” Jaime asked, smothering his burning desire to drive back the Mormont Stables and rip Ron and his cronies to shreds.

Brienne shook her head. “I mentioned it to Tarly, but he insists it’s just banter,” she sighed. “And if I take it any higher, it’s still my word against theirs and fuck knows Tarly would be out to mix my skin with the horse feed if I make him look bad.”

“I could speak to Tyrion,” Jaime suggested. “See if he has any advice?”

“Isn’t this rather small fry for him?” Brienne choked, laughing tearily. “And doesn’t he have a beheading case to focus on?”

“Eh, it’s a pretty cut and dry case.” Jaime shrugged. “The defendant was found using the severed heads as jack o lanterns in his garden on All Strangers’ Eve, I’m sure he could spare us a minute.”

“I will think about it,” Brienne conceded, leaning over to rest her head on his shoulder. Jaime smiled and kissed her damp head.

“Hungry?” he asked.

“Starving.”  
“Me too!” Jaime declared. “Shall we save time and share a shower, get to lunch quicker?”


	4. Chapter 4

Sansa popped her head into the living room to see if anyone was home. Arya was sat engrossed on her tablet, wearing one of Jon’s old shirts and a pair of pyjama bottoms. She looked up at the sound of footsteps but shrugged and returned to her screen when she saw it was Sansa.

“Oh, it’s you,” she said.

“Yes, it’s me,” Sansa said tightly, well aware her sister would have been hoping for someone else. Jon or Robb, or Brienne, the ‘sister she never had’. Sansa could not help but resent the adoration Arya held for the older girl, but in her generosity she could understood it. Brienne was rough and mannish and ugly, and Arya really didn’t have to feel second best the way she always did next to Sansa.

“Where are the others?” Sansa asked Arya.

“Jon and Ygritte are putting a last shift in at the brewery before closing it for wedding planning,” Arya told her. “Bran and Rickon are upstairs with Mum.”

“I thought Mum was going to the Restaurant to drop off the balloons.”  
“She got Robb and Theon to do it,” Arya said, stretching out her sock clad feet.

At the mention of the younger Greyjoy’s name, Sansa felt a tremor excitement infused with a ripple of dread.

“I’m going upstairs to start getting ready for the party,” Sansa informed her, “I can help you too if you like?”

At thirteen, Arya still had something of the horse face about her, but in the past year she had begun to grow into her looks and was no longer a complete lost cause.

Living in a house with an older brother and cousin who liked swords and fighting and football, Sansa could still remember her joy when she had been told she was getting a little sister. But then that sister turned out to be the worst of the lot, really more boy than girl as far as Sansa could see.

And then all of Sansa’s friends drifted off, distracted by work and boyfriends, their lives truly starting. Cat, who picked up the slack and took part in Sansa’s interests when no one else in the family would, was too busy sorting out the house to barely say a word to Sansa about anything other than work or the wedding. And she had brought Brienne into the house, cementing Sansa’s status as outcast of the family.

“No thanks,” Arya said absentmindedly, “You know I’m not into that stuff.”

‘That stuff’. Sansa could just hear the disdain dripping off Arya’s voice. What mattered the most to Sansa in the world was just ‘stuff’. And frivolous, meaningless stuff as well. Sansa didn’t need Arya to spell out for her just how much her little sister looked down on her.

She was rather like Daenerys, in a way. Thinking that a woman could only be empowered if she was loud and forceful and scorned femininity. That aggression was the way to get forward in life.

Sansa might not have been aggressive or loud, but she was just as much a feminist as Arya or Daenerys Targaryen. Maybe even more so, as she didn’t have to pretend to be a man in order to feel empowered.

Sansa felt her phone buzz frantically in her pocket. It was the fifth time it rang since she got on the bus. She smiled to herself.

Sansa wondered if Daenerys was starting to appreciate feminine virtues; such as humility and caution, just a bit more.

#

Jon and Ygritte’s engagement party was probably the least taxing social engagement Brienne ever had to endure. Brienne had met everyone for Jon’s side already. A lot of them were the same crowd from Ned’s funeral and this occasion was rather more festive and a lot less sober, which made the whole ordeal much more bearable.

Brienne felt a less anxious thinking about what to say to people when there was a good chance that they wouldn’t remember a word she said by morning. And as for embarrassing herself, well, Ygritte’s side had arrived already on a buzz and they only spiralled from there. 

Poor Cat could only watch in dismay as Wildling and Stark transitioned between gyrating obscenely against each other’s hips, to busting each other’s noses and finally to sharing a spliff in the middle of the dance floor.

Brienne was sat huddled in the corner, watching the chaos unfold in bemusement whilst keeping her eyes peeled in case the need arose for her to intervene.

She started slightly as a warm, firm hand clasped her bare shoulder. She looked up to see Jaime grinning down at her, his green eyes twinkling in the disco lights.

“Fancy a dance?” he asked, nodding towards the dance floor.

Brienne grimaced at the sight of thrusting bodies gyrating in the smoke, their skin flashing red and purple and yellow and green.

“When it’s a slower song, maybe,” she replied.

Jaime kept his hand on Brienne’s shoulder, tracing light circles onto her freckled skin with his thumb.

“I’ll hold you to that,” he promised.

Jaime moved as though to sit beside her, but he froze with his knees half bent.

“Red haired Stark girl coming our way,” he hissed. “Cover for me!” And with that he ducked and darted for the men’s toilets.

Brienne rolled her eyes in (begrudgingly amused) disapproval.

It was one of Jaime’s favourite games to paint Sansa’s puppy dog crush into something more malignant. Something sinister. He pretended to cower in fear every time her name was mentioned, snapping his head over in shoulder as though expecting to find her lurking under bushes and talking him down the street. Whenever something went missing; be it pen, pencil or sock, he insisted Sansa had stolen it to add to her secret Jaime shrine. And he claimed to have left strict instructions with his brother that in the event of his disappearance, the first call of order was to track down the sex dungeon that Sansa had no doubt chained him up in.

Jaime’s newest game was to carry around a Weirwood pendant in order to ward off any charms and enchantments poor Sansa might be throwing his way.

“Although that may be too little too late, for I find myself already utterly enchanted,” he would croon to Brienne, before nuzzling into her neck until she pushed him away as a punishment for being disgusting and soppy.

#

Sansa dodged past Jon as he blindly dashed over to the corner Robb and Theon had buried themselves, waving his phone in the air. Sansa huffed and straightened the creases from her dress, before striding over to take her seat by Brienne.

“Hi Brienne!” Sansa said cheerfully. “Mind if I sit?”

“Sure,” Brienne said, shifting her chair to allow Sansa to scooch in beside her.

“You look nice,” Sansa told Brienne, who was polite enough not to scoff.

“So do you,” Brienne was able to reply in all truthfulness.

Sansa had remembered how Jaime once complimented Brienne on a blue blouse that matched her eyes. Tonight she was dressed in a plain navy-blue dress, loose and shapeless and very suitable. Sansa’s own dress was blue, a bright electric blue with a lace illusion neckline and beading. Brienne looked like a drab shadow in comparison.

“Jaime not here?” Sansa asked, looking around casually. Sansa had actually seen Jaime catch her eye and move on with a speed that put her in mind of the way Brienne had detached herself from the mysterious red head at the stables. Jaime always was rather aloof with her, acting with a reserve and care he showed none of her siblings. Every word and act he made around her was measured and controlled. There were times he was affeered to even look at her too closely, steadfastly refusing to meet her eye.

“Bathroom,” Brienne said succinctly. “He should be back soon.”

“And how are the moving in plans going?” Sansa asked lightly. “Is that still going ahead?”

“Good, we’ve cleared the junk out of the spare room and now we just need to decorate.”

“Can’t you move in now and stay in Jaime’s room until your room is ready?” Sansa suggested. She raised a perfectly arched eyebrow as Brienne’s lips turned thin and her back stiffened.

“We’re not at that stage yet,” Brienne said shortly.

“You’re moving in together, but you still don’t share a bed?” Sansa asked dubiously.

“Different couple progress at different times,” Brienne recited.

“Oh, well,” Sansa said. “And Jaime is alright with that?”

“He’s alright with what makes me happy,” Brienne said coldly. She spied the doubt in Sansa’s pretty pansy blue eyes. Doubt less aggressive than the scorn dripping from Ron’s mouth, but just as pervasive. “What?” she asked grimly.

“It’s just, and don’t get me wrong because I say this with love,” Sansa assured her, “Is everything alright with Jaime?”

“What do you mean by _alright_?” Brienne asked, ice on her lips.

“Well, most men who are serious about a woman would usually have hoped to have taken things to an intimate level,” Sansa mused. “I just hope that Jaime isn’t-” Sansa trailed off, the words drying on her tongue in the face of Brienne’s white face and thin lips.

“I’m not sure how my relationship with Jaime is any of your business,” Brienne said firmly.

Sansa looped a lock of hair around her finger in a show of nonchalance. “You’re my friend. You’re practically family and of course I want to look out for you, and when I see you and Jaime together I can’t help but be concerned. “

“I can assure you that there is no need for concern,” Brienne informed her, staring her down. “Although I am interested to hear how you came to that conclusion.”

“Look, clearly I was mistaken,” Sansa said, pulling herself to her full height in an attempt to hide her fluster. Brienne was usually so retiring in the face of insults, so reluctant to acknowledge a slight. “Evidently I misread the signals and drew the wrong conclusion. It was an honest mistake.”

“But why were you reading the signals in the first place?” Brienne asked. “What were you expecting to find?”

“I feel, I _felt,_ some confusion as to your relationship with Jaime,” Sansa said coolly. “There were aspects of it that did not entirely match up.”

“Such as?” Brienne pushed, her voice low and soft, daring Sansa to say it.

Sansa tilted her chin, refusing to appear apologetic when judgement had already been passed.

“You mean a man like Jaime couldn’t truly love a woman like me? Go on, say it. Women like me don’t belong with men like Jaime,” Brienne pushed.

“I never said anything of the sort!” Sansa said defensively.

“No, you would never dare, would you,” Brienne agreed in, her voice low and gentle. “You’re a nice girl. A pretty, pleasant girl with pretty, pleasant manners. You would never say anything that could be called out. Something that could be fought over. You hide it. You twist it up in rhetoric and smother it in concern, building it up bit by bit until it’s festering inside me. And you do it so cleverly, so daintily, that you deceive me into thinking that this is my own opinion of myself. You don’t spell it out, you provide the facts and let me draw my own conclusion. I wonder if you even realise you are doing it.”

“Doing what?” Sansa scoffed. “I made a mistake, pure and simple. And if I hurt you then I am sorry. But you are so determined to turn yourself into a victim that you twist everything up and try to make _me_ look like the bad guy.”

“What?” Brienne asked in disbelief.

“Women like you, women who consider themselves so superior because they don’t bother with ‘yucky, girly nonsense’, taking such pride in being ‘one of the boys’ and looking down on women like me who don’t feel ashamed of their gender. And then actually acting offended when people can’t tell you still want to be romanced and treated with chivalry.”

“Let me tell you this, Sansa Stark,” Brienne near whispered. “It is not for you to dictate what is feminine and what is not. No more than it was Randyll Tarly’s or Ron Connington’s or anyone else who looked at me and declared me deficient while I; for far too long and for far too many years, listened.”

Brienne spied Jaime hovering on the end of the dance floor, waiting for Sansa to leave before coming to claim his dance.

“Now, if you will excuse me,” Brienne said polite aloofness. “I believe my boyfriend is waiting to dance.”

#

“Well, I always knew it was going to be a challenge,” Daenerys said airily, concealer hiding the dark proof of her chaotic night. “Yara Greyjoy is notoriously difficult, but I got through to her in the end.”

Manderly shook his head in bewilderment. “This is the first time Greyjoy has ever agreed to a fashion shoot, how did you pull it off?”

Daenerys pulled herself to her full height, tall despite her petite frame.

“She was meant to skype with her final answer yesterday afternoon,” she said, her eyes briefly flickering over to where Sansa stood pale and diminished in the corner. “But by evening no word came. Fortunately, my ex-boyfriend’s; Jon, cousin’s boyfriend, happens to be _Theon_ Greyjoy. I got through to him and wrangled a last-minute meeting. I considered pulling some strings with my contacts at Redwyne, but I suspected that Yara would prefer a more personal touch. A stuffy, formal restaurant really isn’t her scene. Illyrio Mopatis has always been a dear family friend and he kindly leant me the use of his yacht. After that, it was just a matter of having Olenna send over some complimentary champagne to break the ice, as well as a few discounted kegs of beer from Jon’s brewery for when we got to the serious drinking, to ensure Yara was well and truly liquored up-”

“Always effective,” Manderly said with a chuckle.

“And by the end of the evening, I am very pleased to announce that Yara is excited to work with us and raring to go. I have the studios waiting for booking confirmation, the models chosen, and the wardrobe selected, so now it’s just a case of getting the go ahead.”

Daenerys had the grace not to even try looking modest in the face of the applause her colleagues broke out in. Sansa felt sick to her stomach. As the Department Heads and their assistants converged onto Daenerys in a fawning, worshipful mass, Sansa tried to slip away. Hoping madly that if Daenerys didn’t see her, she would forget all about the useless assistant who had left her high and dry.

It didn’t work.

“Of course I can get you a table at Redwyne’s for your anniversary,” Dany trilled as Jon Umber, head of Sports Wear, near wept in gratitude. “I helped Olenna’s granddaughter once when she was in a bit of a bind after she found out her gown for the Sept Gala was the same colour as Cersei Baratheon and I was able to put together a little something for her. Sansa!” she called, smiling poison at her retreating assistant. “Meet me in my office. Five minutes.”

#

“So you really let Sansa have it?” Jaime said, beaming with pride.

Brienne shrugged, smiling bashfully. They were sat on Jaime’s sofa, Brienne’s phone looming large and menacing on his coffee table. Next to it was the list of questions Jaime had helped Brienne work out to put to Tyrion.

“I was tired of people doubting us. When we first got together, it was a battle of constantly reassuring myself that I was good enough for you. And I don’t need other people trying to put doubts in my head under the guise of friendship,” Brienne said forcefully.

“I’m so proud of you.” Jaime squeezed her hand.

Brienne smiled, her eyes slipping apprehensively towards the phone.

“It’s _just_ a phone call to my brother, _just_ to get some advice,” Jaime assured her. “You don’t have to do anything with it if you don’t want to.”

“But I do,” Brienne insisted. “I am done with putting up with Tarly’s abuse and making his life easier. I’m through with listening to Ron’s shit. I have a choice. Stand up to them or walk away. And that’s not really a choice, not when I know that’s what they want.”

She stared down at the phone.

“I deserve better,” she said.

“You do,” Jaime agreed.

She grabbed the phone and jabbed in the number, listening to it ring with her jaw clenched. Jaime shifted closer, squeezing her hand as they waited.

“I deserve better,” she repeated to herself, Jaime warm and strong beside her. Jaime who adored her. Who didn’t care if she was taller than him or broader than him. Who didn’t care if she arrived at their dates smelling of horse sweat and dirt. Sweat and dirt from a job that she was bloody good at, that she had worked hard to get and was damned if she was going to walk away from.

~Two Months Later~

The wedding was exactly what Catelyn feared. One of the most sacred and holy places in the North of Westeros, stuffed with drunken drugged up Wildlings. Cursing and carousing and hollering to their hearts content.

“Life is a gift from the Gods, Cat!” Ygritte insisted. “Best enjoy it.”

Ygritte made a divinely pretty bride. Her bohemian lace dress was romantic but utterly ‘her’. Her red locks were artfully tangled as usual, but blue winter roses were woven in with care. In his elegant black suit and painstakingly curled hair, Jon looked even prettier than the bride. Until he started crying at the Tree and made his face go all puffy.

Ygritte and Jon’s friends had whipped out handmade rustic flutes and drums and were regaling the party with ancient folk songs that made up for noise what they lacked in tunefulness. Jon was dancing with Arya, their faces red and flushed despite the brisk winter air. Ygritte waltzed clumsily with Bran and Rickon.

Jaime slumped down beside Brienne, placing a plate of blood sausages, steak pie and suckling pig.

“Can’t fault their choice in menu,” Jaime noted. “Far better than fiddly bits they served at the weddings Father and Cersei used to make me go to.”

Brienne picked at the ribs, sauce and juice running down her fingers. “Have you tried the Yak’s Milk?”

Jaime tore his focus away from Brienne’s fingers (Gods he wanted to lick them) and shook his head.

“I’m all for trying new things, but for now I’m sticking with the beer.”

Brienne’s smile faded into a frown as she caught sight of Sansa sitting alone and woebegone. Jaime followed her line of sight and shifted in his seat.

“Still not found a new job then?” he asked indifferently.

“I think she’s got some part time work at a dress repair shop,” Brienne said. “Which is better than nothing. Should we invite her other?”

“You can do as you please, but I can’t promise to be polite,” Jaime said honestly.

“Well there’s a surprise,” Brienne muttered dryly.

“We are surrounded by Sansa’s friends and family,” Jaime pointed out. “If she’s feeling lonely, she can join any of them. Not sit there waiting for the world to come to her.”

Brienne nodded, tucking into the rick pie Jaime had presented her with. Gravy slid down her cheek as Jaime stifled a groan.

“Gods Woman,” he muttered. “You don’t know what you do to me.”

Brienne flushed, cheeks flaring at his declaration. She looked back over at Sansa, who was staring wistfully at the couple. She blushed and looked away, cheeks pink.

“I think she’s still hoping you will wake up and whisk her away on your white horse,” Brienne said sympathetically.

“Grey, Brienne,” Jaime pointed out. “You of all people should know that.” He shrugged. “She will grow up in time. I just don’t want her giving you shit until she does. Now that Ron and Tarly are out, there should be no one left to make you miserable but me!”

“Well you are doing a pretty shit job at it,” Brienne remarked. Jaime clutched his heart.

“It pains me to hear you say that,” he sighed sadly. “I will simply have to try harder. Be prepared to be subjected to my constant, aggravating presence.”

“However will I cope?” Brienne cried out in dismay.

“You have no choice but to, Wench. You simply have no choice.”

"I think we both know that's not true," Brienne said warmly. "Fortunately for you, I'd pick you anyway."


End file.
